


Friends Never Say I Love You

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [314]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Brotp, College Years, Gen, cambridge!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:17:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7971466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so @tb5-heavenward is LETTING ME PLAY, and asked for “fluffy brotp John and Penny, college-aged and gadding about at university.” AND THEN SHE GAVE <a href="http://tb5-heavenward.tumblr.com/post/147220946012/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you#postnotes">ME THIS LINK </a>AND THIS HAPPENED</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends Never Say I Love You

  
1)  "Come here, let me fix it.“  

Penny stops, elbows out and her fingers still buried to her scalp.   "You.  Fix it?  Did one of your brothers have a long haired phase I don’t know about?”

John lets her sarcasm roll off him like water off the proverbial duck.  "You have no mirror, no brush, and no time,“ he points out reasonably.  "Let me fix it,”

Penny drops her arms and turns around with the kind of bad grace she normally never shows in front of anyone other than Parker.  John chuckles as Penny sighs at the pressure, but John’s fingers are gentle in the tangles, and despite herself, Penny feels her shoulders unlocking.

Her father used to brush her hair, every night before bed, until she got too old to be put to bed by daddy.  She misses that time, and shakes away the memory with a little twitch of her chin.  "Hold still,“ John murmurs around the clip he is holding in his teeth.  She obeys, and a few moments later, John is done.  "Ta da,” he says, deadpan and as dry as the desert.

Penny fishes out her compact, turns on the front facing camera.  Her hair is swept up, looser than she normally wears it, but the softness suits the summery sweep of her dress.  Lifting the compact, Penny raises one eyebrow at the fishtail braid that has gathered her hair into a neat, swooping line down her back.

“Final touch,” John says, plucking the boutonniere off his lapel.  His touch is gentle ands sweet, pushing a stray curl up behind her ear as he fixes the flower in place.

“John Glenn Tracy, you are full of hidden talents,” Penny says as she folds her compact shut with a crisp snap.

His smile flickers, so fast that anyone who didn’t know him as well as she did would probably not have seen it at all.  "My mother…when she…before.“  He trails off, turning slightly aside.  His hands smooth down his now-bare jacket.

An impulse has Penny stepping in, her fingers catching his.  "Thank you,” she manages, a thousand other words dying unsaid.

John smiles without speaking, and takes her hand.  She leads him down the path towards the summer garden party.

John never lets go.

2)  "I brought you an umbrella.“  John blinks at her, his button-down shirt already showing the speckles of rain that have bounced into the scant cover of entryway.

"Were you waiting for me?” he asks, sounding so stunned that Penny has to laugh.

“I knew you’d forget.  This is England, John,” she teases, spinning her own umbrella jauntily on her shoulder.  "Umbrellas are de rigor pretty much from August to June.“

That seemed to break the spell, and John shifts his over-burdened book bag to his other shoulder.  The umbrella opens with a snap, and Penny steps to one side to give him room.  "We really must do something about those shoes,” she adds, tapping a puddle with her own wellingtons.

In reply, John jumps off the step and into a puddle.  The spray of water splashs against her coat, and Penny squeals with startled laughter as she skittered back a few steps.  "You beast!“

"Socks dry pretty easily, Pen,” John says with a shrug.

Their umbrellas jostled, catching and tipping water on each other as they battled to jump in every puddle first the entire walk home.

3) Penelope was a Lady, and as such she had been dealing with suitors ever since her debut.  

It had been a long four years of parties dutifully attended, and distant relatives making not-so-subtle introductions of men who had been, to a cad, total and utter bores.

The ballroom was getting overheated, the weather raging outside keeping everyone in.  The lights seemed too bright and the band seemed too loud, and every corner she had found had contained another bore.

Frustrated and tired, Penny found herself wondering what the plural noun of bores was.  A snore of bores?  A posse?  A mob?

“Lady Penelope, there you are.  May I introduce…?”  Penny tuned out the introduction; she had been doing this since she was a child, accompanying her father around the room.  She could nod and smile on autopilot.

The bore in front of her was sadly lacking in chins and height, and if she was any judge, his hair within the next few years.

The bore’s eyes were fastened on a point below her chin – her cleavage or her diamond necklace, it didn’t really matter.  "May I have the honour of the next dance, my Lady?“

Penny’s skin crawled under her fine silk opera gloves.  But she knew her duty, and so pasted on a cordial smile.

"Can I have this dance?”  The voice was gentle, but firm, a soft cadance that nevertheless cut through the noise.  Penny and the bore both turned.

John was backlit by the chandelier, the light making the red glow in his hair.  "You did promise, Lady Penelope,“ he prompted.

Penny took the lifeline.  "Of course.  Excuse me,” she murmured to the bore, already gone in a sweep of skirt and silk.

John’s hand was light, careful on her hip.  "Thank you,“ she whispered with heartfelt vigor.

John leaned in; his breath was warm on her ear.  "I asked Parker to bring the car around back.  He’s waiting for us.”

Their waltz had brought them across the dancefloor to the staff entrance.  Picking up her skirts, they ran for it.

4) “It’s two sugars, right?”  John looked up, his eyes straining at the sudden shift away from the screen and the demanding, blinking cursor.

Penny looked younger out of makeup, her hair in a messy top knot, the heavy cable-knit sweater a size too large so that it spilled over her wrists.  She smiled as she nudged the steaming mug closer.

“Yes.  Thanks,” he added belatedly.  The tea smelt smokey and rich, and he inhaled the scent to chase out the dust of books and notes and research.

“Take a break?”  Everyone had said that to him this week, his advisors, the other students in the lab, even the janitor.  But only Penny made it sound like an option rather than another demand.

“My thesis is due at the end of the month,” he reminded her.  "I’ve got to rewrite this chapter so it makes sense.“

"All right.”  She crossed the room to sit, cross-legged and easy, on the battered sofa.  "Explain it to me.“

John could always talk to Penny; she was one of the few he could really talk to at all.

She listened, and they sipped their tea, until it all, finally, made sense for him.

5)  The cafe was crowded, and Penny pushed her way through until she spotted the face she was looking for.  "Quite the party?” she noted, shrugging out of her coat.

“End of term,” John said with a shrug.  "And Tia submitted today, so…“ he waggled his fingers ironically.  "Party.”

She laughed, turning as someone tapped her shoulder.  "Oh cake. Lovely.  Thank you.“

John nodded at the plate.  "Looks like you got the last piece.”

“I suspect I did.”  She reached for the small fork.  "But it is your friend’s celebration, I’m just gatecrashing.“

"You can have half.”  They said it together.

“Ha, jinx!” Someone yelled across the room.  The noise broke then out of their startled silence.

“Yes,” Penny said, pressing her fork democratically right down the middle.  "Half and half.“


End file.
